A Montana Journal. April, ca 2019 Evil come a’callin these two days past. She took the form of a tiny angel with cherub’s face and divine siren’s song no mortal here on earth might forbear. She spun her entrapping web with beguiling words such as thin mints, trefoils, samoas and tagalongs. The cart she brung with her, muled I’m confident by Satan hisself – or perhaps her pa – was filled to full with her captivating temptations. And so it was I found myself staring down at two big blues eyes and taking three of them boxes of devilish delight off her hands in exchange for twelve dollar. With her sweet little smile and mannerly thank-you’s, she took leave of my camp and I was left alone with my own weakness as a human being. Along with them three parcels of sinful pleasure. I have spent these past days in sugary paradise (yes, them boxes are presently empty of all contents) and have done so without regret. Though having touched the glorious gates of cookie Heaven, I have not...